“Mom,” Fifi complained.
Carson hesitated, then picked the least dangerous-looking egg. My family watched him eat it like they were judges in a cooking competition.
He set the egg down. “It’s… great.”
Violet leaned toward me and whispered, “He’s trying so hard to impress us. It’s adorable.”
“He’s just being polite,” I whispered back.
“Mm-hmm. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I elbowed her.
Carson’s eyes cut to us. “Should I be concerned?”
“No,” we both said too fast.
We froze, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Everything’s great!” I insisted, because panic made me lie like a toddler.
“Yeah,” Violet said sweetly. “We’re just thrilled to have you here.”
"Suspiciously thrilled," Beck muttered from the kitchen. "Like vultures circling the final minutes.”
I was going to set something on fire purely to escape.
My mom bustled around setting dishes, humming happily. “Okay, team! We have thirty minutes before the food is ready. Violet, you finish the potatoes. Fifi, check the rolls. Beck, stop kissing your muscles. And Sienna—show Carson the backyard. It’s nice out.”
My sisters glowed. Beck smirked like a mischievous kid.
My stomach flipped.
“Um, sure,” I said, motioning toward the sliding door. “Come on.”
Carson followed, hands in his pockets, shoulders brushing close enough to make my breath catch. Outside, the yard buzzed with early spring warmth. The snow had melted except for a few stubborn patches under the pines. Birds chirped. The breeze carried the smell of budding earth and biscuits cooling inside.
I walked to the railing of the deck. “Sorry about the chaos.”
“It’s… not bad,” he said.
We both leaned on the railing.
“It’s a lot, and they're my family.”
He smiled. “Is that why you go to Alaska?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
“It’s actually kind of nice,” he said after a beat.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it to be polite.”
My pulse stuttered.
He stood quiet for a moment, then said, “This reminds me of something.”
